Where There Is Life
by Sketch
Summary: A post-Jotun-Asgardian battle fic, centered on Laufey. The Jotun king thinks about the future of his people and the Midgardian saying, "where there is life, there is hope."


Where There Is Life…

There was blood on the temple steps. The stone was slick with it, a mixture of gore and snowmelt and viscous humors. Pushed to either side were the remains of his men, a company of his most trusted soldiers to protect the valuables of their kingdom. They were never meant to see bloodshed today; the Asgardians should not have made it this far. Laufey had told the guards as much, and had failed to keep his word. At least they'd died honorably, instead of surviving in defeated shame.

Laufey was not an unrealistic ruler. He knew the gambles of war, knew that the treasures of a fallen kingdom were forfeit to the victor. He knew Odin for a worthy opponent, and, though it smarted, he knew that the Jotun had lost that day. They would fall back and regroup, rebuild their cities and salvage what they could from the land. They would temper this uneasy peace between realms, and both peoples would abide by the truce. It had not been done before, but then, Odin had made it clear that there would be peace or there would be death. Both sides had seen enough death.

Laufey strode past the rubble of the now-ruined antechambers. Two days ago, he had walked through this room to make offerings to the gods, hoping they would hear his prayers and turn the battle in their favor. The heavy scents of juniper and woodsmoke still hung in the air, but the cloying reek of blood was more pungent, and the sacred chants had fallen silent when the priests fell by the sword. Laufey wondered, briefly, if the gods, too, would wither and die, now that what little faith his people had harbored for the gods had perished in the sacking of the city. They would rebuild the temples eventually, but would people come to offer thanks to an empty temple, a building meant to honor gods of empty promises?

There was a Midgardian saying, "where there is life, there is hope." Perhaps there was merit in it. The pathetic mortals had toiled in their vast lands for years, flourishing despite the repeated raids and attacks of significantly stronger forces. Perhaps it was this tenacity that had tipped fortune in their favor. Laufey was not too prideful to learn from lesser creatures, for had not these people won the day? In victory came prosperity. In defeat came humiliation, but also knowledge. His people would learn, they would watch, they would evolve, they would grow. The old ways had been obliterated, and the Jotun people would literally start anew.

Where there was life, there was hope. Laufey looked at the cracked pedestals, now empty of their treasures. The charred meat and flagons of ale were crushed underfoot, the holy relics defiled as the Asgardians had ravaged the inner chambers of the complex. Tattered curtains puddle on the floor, seeped in blood. More of his men lay about, their injuries more severe than those outside, brutally cut down in their final stand. They had fought, his noble warriors, fought with all their strength and to their last breath. Still, it had not been enough. His heart would have ached, had he not already gone numb with his defeat. He wanted to mourn the loss of his men, but so much had already been lost today, their deaths were lost in the chilling sensation of loss.

Where there was life, there was hope. He continued his solitary path through the temple, seeing nothing but ruin and loss. More death at his feet, more empty spaces, more ruin and despair. He wanted to stop, to stay and properly mourn his people. Mourn each loss and try to understand how they had failed, what their fatal flaw had been, what they could have done to win the day, win the war. Still, he moved forward. There was one last treasure he sought, one last spark of life he hoped to find in the ruin of death. Where there was life, there was hope.

His son had been small for a Jotun, but the midwives and priests agreed that magic flowed strong through the boy. What the child lacked in stature he addressed vocally, for his cries were lusty enough to match any Jotun's bellows. Laufey knew the child would have to be strong to survive, that the boy would face challenges from within and without the realm. But the boy was the Jotun prince, Laufey's son and heir, and where there was life, there was hope.

He'd hidden the child in the temple, the bastion that housed the most precious items in the realm. He'd taken the sleeping child into the crypts, whispering fervent prayers over the peaceful babe as he gently interred it into one of the cavities beside his forefathers. He'd placed a final kiss on the child and arranged the swaddling cloth to cover the child, creating a soft shroud to hide its face from view. His final prayer was a spell, sending the babe into a deep and silent sleep. The boy would not wake again until touched, and Laufey had left his son in the hopes that, should the day be lost, the child would not wake again until his father found him.

He would not have believed himself capable of any deeper sorrow. Humiliation and loss had crippled his heart and brought him low. He was wrong. Laufey sank to his knees, the frozen remains of his heart cracking under this final blow.

The crypt had been defiled, corpses stripped of their jewels and their dignity, tossed into undignified heaps. His father and his father's fathers, his mother's sisters and their aunts and grandmothers had all faced the indignity of a marauding force hungry for loot. Druagar guardians had been cut down to heaping piles of rotten flesh and frostbitten bone on the stone floor. And that hidden cranny, so unassuming, so innocently empty of anything but cloth, had been violated.

Where there was life, there was hope. There was no life here, only the stains of what had once been. The swaddling cloth lay askew, bloody handprints staining the white fabric to a murky brown. The Asgardians had taken everything. In that moment, Laufey felt the crippling chill of despair. They had killed his son, or taken the child with them, no doubt a sacrifice to feed their bloodthirsty gods as thanks for their victory. They had taken that tiny spark of life, that innocent child so full of vigor and vim, and left Laufey bereft of heir and hope. He didn't even have a body to bury.

There was another Midgardian saying, that all things heal with time. He knelt in the crypt for some time, his mind blank in its inability to digest all that had happened. He was a king; his kingdom had fallen. He was the ruler of this realm; his actions were tempered and put in check under the weighty threat of a truce. He was a father and loved by his people; his son was dead and his people had been bled to near death.

"Sire…?" Laufey looked up, seeing one of his few remaining generals standing in the doorway. The man looked tired, blood caked on his armor and his arm in a brace. There were burn marks across his face, no doubt a victim of the burning swords of Asgard. Laufey could not remember the man's name, but the familiar face reminded him of his duties, and when he stood, it was as the Jotun King.

"Gather your men and have them assemble on the terrace. We must know what is left and then will determine what is to be done." Laufey strode past the man, his mind already reorganizing thoughts and planning the new order of things. The general bowed and stood to one side, though he looked askance at the bones of the ancient Jotun rulers. Laufey stopped just before the threshold, seeing the man's gaze and knowing the question on the man's lips.

"Leave them," Laufey said. "They are dead, and can abide while we determine a course of action. Our duty now is to the living." He allowed himself a small, bitter smile.

"After all, where there if life, there is hope."


End file.
